Autumn Roses
by Kate Marley
Summary: About the separation of Hungary from Austria in 1918, from Elizaveta's point of view. Based on the poem "On Monsieur's Departure", probably written by Queen Elizabeth I. of England. A sequel to "Moonlight and Music", but you don't have to read this story in order to understand "Autumn Roses".


Elizaveta carefully touched the two flowers she had tucked into her hair. One of them was white, the other one had the colour of his eyes. For a moment, she wished desperately this was the imagery of those flowers: her love for him. But she also knew what asters meant in the language of flowers: _You are not faithful_. Leaving open the question of who was not faithful to whom, though … or if 'faith' had any meaning at all when the world they had known collapsed like a house of cards.

Elizaveta stifled a sigh and braced herself for what was to come. She knew what Károlyi and the others expected of her: to push Roderich away. Roderich, who was to her like another self. Thinking of it made her blood run cold, but she knew she hardly had any other choice. She tried to stifle the shaking of her hands.

I grieve and dare not show my discontent;  
>I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate;<br>I do, yet dare not say I ever meant;  
>I seem stark mute, but inwardly do prate.<br>I am, and not; I freeze and yet am burned,  
>Since from myself another self I turned.<br>_~ Elizabeth I (?): On Monsieur's Departure ~_

'Budapest is occupied. My country must be free. Charles IV of Hungary must finally appoint Mihály Károly Prime Minister.'

Elizaveta put forth her demands more vigorously than she actually felt, but she sensed it was the will of her people. She could no longer close her mind to it.

Roderich looked at her with the same warm and understanding gaze as ever. She would have preferred to avert her eyes so that she did not have to see the vulnerable expression he hid behind it. His hurt. His helplessness.

He gently raised his hand and touched the flowers in her hair. The gesture was so familiar to her. How often had he done this in the past centuries? He hardly moved his lips, and yet she heard what he whispered to her, voice choking. 'Joseph August will take care of this. My autumn rose … my autumn rose shall be free.'

In this moment, her façade nearly broke down. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from under her feet. _Autumn rose._ He could still recall. The Hungarian word for 'aster' was _évelő őszirózsa,_ 'perennial autumn rose'.

It would have been so much easier if he had hated her. Or if she could have hated him. But like this … She would never have thought it hurt so much to push someone away you still loved.

My care is like my shadow in the sun –  
>Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,<br>Stands, and lies by me, doth what I have done;  
>His too familiar care doth make me rue it.<br>No means I find to rid him from my breast,  
>Till by the end of things it be suppressed.<br>_~ Elizabeth I (?): On Monsieur's Departure ~_

Elizaveta stood at the window and watched his straight back receding, farther and farther away from her. His back which he held all the straighter the more defeats he had to cope with, because it sometimes was the only thing keeping him upright. She desperately wished she hadn't known this. Perhaps, then, it wouldn't have hurt as much to watch him walk out of their mutual life like that.

She feebly sank against the wall. What would all of this come to? She hoped that over the years, this love threatening to burn her would cease with her desperation. At the same time she wished never to forget how it felt when Roderich stroked her hair. Never to forget the feeling of comfort when she sat next to him at the piano and he played only for her. But perhaps it was better for both of them if something cut the bond between them once and for all…

Some gentler passion slide into my mind,  
>For I am soft and made of melting snow;<br>Or be more cruel, Love, and so be kind.  
>Let me or float or sink, be high or low;<br>Or let me live with some more sweet content,  
>Or die, and so forget what love e'er meant.<br>_~ Elizabeth I (?): On Monsieur's Departure ~_

Roderich was no more to be seen.

Elizaveta pushed herself away from the wall and clenched her fists. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn't help her at all. It changed nothing. Right now, it was most important to consolidate the emerging Hungarian state.

—

**Notes:**

The **Aster** or **Chrysanthemum Revolution** (Hungarian _Őszirózsás forradalom;_ no 'autumn roses' in English) is the term for unrest taking place in Budapest and other Hungarian cities at the end of October 1918. It started with the formation of the **Hungarian National Council** _(Magyar Nemzeti Tanács)_ by the liberal left _Függetlenségi és 48-as Párt_ ('Party of Independence and 1848), the _Polgári Radikális Párt_ ('Bourgeois Radical Party'), and the _Magyarországi Szociáldemokrata Párt_ ('Hungarian Social Democrat Party'). Led by liberal politician Count **Mihály **Ádám György Miklós **Károlyi** de Nagykároly (1875-1955), the National Council called for a twelve-point program demanding, among other things, an immediate end of the war and Hungarian independence from Vienna. Protesters and soldiers took up those twelve points and demanded Károlyi be appointed Prime Minister. The soldiers replaced their Austro-Hungarian badges of rank, instead attaching white asters to their uniforms and gun barrels, and occupied Budapest on 31 October. At that, **King Charles IV of Hungary** (Charles I of Austria, 1887-1922, Emperor of Austria 1916-1918) authorised **Archduke Joseph August **Viktor Klemens Maria of Austria, Prince of Hungary and Bohemia (1872-1962), to name Károlyi Prime Minister. As such, Károlyi proclaimed the **Hungarian Democratic Republic **on 16 November 1918, after Charles IV had withdrawn from government in Hungary three days earlier.

The poem **'On Monsieur's Departure' **is attributed to Elizabeth I of England (1533-1603, Queen since 1558). It probably deals with her unsuccessful marriage negotiations with François-Hercule de Valois (1555-1584, Duke of Anjou since 1576) between 1578 and 1581. Her possible marriage with a Frenchman was very unpopular among the English. It may be doubted that Elizabeth, unlike Elizaveta in my story, describes her true feelings in 'On Monsieur's Departure'. Perhaps this example of courtly love poetry rather served Elizabeth as well as Francis of Anjou to save face.


End file.
